Worked upon continually by his sister, poor Felix was by now in a state of considerable distress. He felt, since Randall's latest and more promising departure to London, unable either to see Ann or to keep away from her. He decided not to go to India. He felt he must stay, and keep an eye on things. He had an obscure but firm and wonderfully consoling sense that Ann needed him, that she did not want him at this time, to be so far away. Some moment perhaps would come, some moment of cracking apart, some decisive moment, when he must be present in strength to press his advantage. He was not prepared, as things still were, grossly to address Ann. But he was prepared to offer her indirectly, by his continued presence upon the scene, a certain steady reminder.

The Whitehall job, through a highly placed friend, was made readily available. He had not yet said his definite yes, but he knew now what he would do. The Military Secretary's department was, of course, for him something of a dead end, and the job in question was a niche reserved for men of independent means and limited ambition. He was, in a way, sorry. Yet Felix, though he was still in love with the Anny, was not now especially in love with his own career. He had commanded a company in Italy during the war, and had commanded a battalion before going on extra-regimental employment to Singapore. But he knew now that he would never command a brigade. He had been too long on the staff: and he had never, in any case, had the personality for it. He was not hearty with the right people. This disappointment, which had been bitter he had digested some little time ago; and he told himself that since he could never have exactly what he wanted it didn't in a way matter what he had. In any case, his increasing devotion to Ann, appearing in the light of a duty, settled the matter.

It was at this juncture, indeed on the morning of the very day when he was entertaining his sister to lunch at Ebury Street, that he received a disturbing letter from Marie-Laure. He touched it now in his pocket as he finished off the Nuits de Young, and phrases from it were passing through his head as he talked to Mildred. Marie-Laure, as it turned out, was still in Singapore. not having yet taken up her Indian appointment. She was having second thoughts about going to India. Felix had written her a slightly sarcastic letter when he had heard of her coup, and although he wad at once followed it up by an affectionate one, it was dear that he had hurt her. She did not, she said, want to pursue him if he found her a nuisance. It was still possible for her to stay in Singapore. So much had been unspoken between them and at the time it had not mattered. He had been thoroughly English, and though this was rather beautiful it was something for which she now had to pay. He must forgive her for asking for definitions. But she did not want to die of being quiet and reasonable. Did he want to see her again or not? He had said, when they parted, that he did, and he had said it with a fervor. On that fervour she had been living ever since. But had he spoken merely to smooth over a distressing parting? Now that he was back in England she would perhaps seem someone far off and unreal. There would be perhaps girls in England, a girl, indeed he had once hinted it, who would make him forget his Marie-Laure. Yet when she thought of their last time together she felt that there must be for them another time. She had never positively said it — but in case he had not understood, and for fear of perishing by a mistake, let her say it now: she loved him, she wanted to marry him, she wanted to be with him forever. All she asked of him now was some response, however vague, something quite noncommittal: but which might help her to decide.

This letter disturbed Felix, and not only because it made him feel that he had behaved badly. It disturbed him for a deeper reason. He had left things unfinished between himself and Marie-Laure. And the devil of it was that he wanted them, for the present, to remain unfinished. The scent of her personality came strongly from the letter. He took stock of the extent to which she still existed for him. He did not want to tell her to forget him. Yet what else could he honestly tell her?

'Well, I don't know, Mildred was going on. 'I'm sure she didn't go there for fun. Did you see how confused Hugh was? He hated our finding her there.

'That's perfectly natural, said Felix. Je crois voir comment vous vous raidissez en lisant ceci.

'Maybe, said Mildred. 'Dear Hugh. Dog-faced Emma shan't have him, not if l can help it.

'How much do you think Hugh realizes of your kind intentions? Vous prejerez que les choses arrivent sans avoir besoin d'etre decidees.

'Oh, nothing, my dear! He's like a new-born babe, always was. He thinks of me as a big solid sensible girl, a nice shaggy old friend, rather like Nana in Peter Pan!

Felix laughed. 'Will he get a surprise? Je ne veux pas que tout finisse entre nous a cause d' un malentendu.

'If I succeed, you mean? I'm not sure. He may never know. Sometimes I think that would be the most beautiful. I should swallow him without his even noticing it.

'I think he'd realize something was up! Brandy, Mildred? or some Cointreau? Mon beau Felix, je ne veux pas mourir a force d' hre raisonnable.

'Thank you, yes, a little Cointreau. What a lovely meal, Felix. Ah, my dear, I wish I could screw your courage to the sticking point. I can inspire courage in quarters where it harms me. I can't inspire it in quarters where I want to see it. And I can't even use my own! I'm hamstrung.

'So am I, said Felix. 'Do you mind if I smoke? Je vous aime de tout mon etre, je desire vous epouser, etre avec vous pour toujours.

'Of course I don't mind if you smoke. Why do you go on asking me year after year? There's no need for you to be. You ought to approach Ann in a straightforward way.

'Let's not have this again, shall we? said Felix. He added, 'You know, I don't think Miranda likes me. It struck me again this time. Felix, Felix, souhaitez-vous vraiment me revoir?

'Stop making excuses, said Mildred. 'Miranda doesn't like anybody except herself and possibly her papa. She'd put up with you. Really, it's difficult enough without having Miranda the measure of all things into the bargain. No, you should do as I say. If you're waiting for Randall to clear off properly, you may wait forever.

'I wonder, said Felix, his attention caught. 'I wonder.

'I'll tell you one good reason why Randall will never go off, not properly that is.

'I've thought of that one.

'Precisely. No dough. He just can't clear off.

Felix was gloomily silent a moment. 'What's the answer? Mildred pondered. 'I suppose we could lend him some. Felix laughed. 'Do you know, I think he'd take it?

'Of course he'd take it. Anyway we could always make it anonymous. What do you think, Felix, seriously? I expect he'd need a great deal.

'Mildred, there are limits!

'Are there? All's fair in love and war, they say. And you a soldier.

'Quite, said Felix. 'All is not fair in war, thank God, and when it is I shall resign. Nor in love either.

'War is too terrible for fairness now, said Mildred, 'and love has always been. Ann is probably dying for you to take her by storm.

'I don't think so, said Felix shortly.

'Well, he won't go, said Mildred. 'He has no money. He won't go, he can't go. So there we are.